(re)incarnation
by DreamersMyth27
Summary: "Shut up," one of the men hissed. "Do you want a beating, brat?" "No," Dick said. "But maybe I deserve one. I mean, you did just shoot a kid like he deserved it. How should I know what I deserve?" "Shut up, or you might just end up deserving one," the other guy snapped.


**I am so sorry for this craziness. I just got the idea randomly at 10 pm, so then I wrote it all. It's not super coherent, but I like it a lot! It might be confusing, but I think it's definitely worth a read. Mostly it was a stream of conscious. Very meta. If anyone has any questions, please, feel free to ask and I'll try and get back to you.**

* * *

Jason Todd never met Dick Grayson. Jason Todd was been a street rat who lived by stealing tires and running drugs for gangs. He knew who the teen was; who didn't? The adopted son of Bruce Wayne, Gotham's _White Knight_. He saw when it was announced Dick Grayson had been kidnapped for ransom again on the news. He also just so happened to be running drugs to someone near the warehouse where Dick Grayson was being kept.

It wasn't his fault that the place looked like it'd be pretty safe to sleep in. He didn't know about the armed guards at the doors, hidden just in the shadows. He didn't know that entering, seeing Dick Grayson, marked him for death. So when he caught sight of the teen tied to a chair, he was shot seventeen times. He died instantly.

Dick Grayson had never met Jason Todd either. He never knew the poor kid whose mom had overdosed and dad was spending time in prison for helping Two-Face on a heist. All he knew was the men who kidnapped him had just shot an innocent kid who'd done nothing wrong but entered the wrong warehouse.

That was enough to make him mad. It was enough to make him say something, anything, as long as there was a chance that maybe the kid wasn't dead. Maybe he could get the kid to a hospital in time. Or convince his kidnappers to get the kid to a hospital. Plus, keeping his mouth shut had never been a strong suit of his.

"Wow, that's so brave, shooting an innocent kid," Dick scoffed. The man next to him looked over and pointed the gun at him threateningly. Dick ignored him and continued. "I mean, imagine, a couple of grown adults shooting a kid looking for a place to sleep. I bet a few of you were doing the same thing at his age. You didn't get shot, so why should he?"

"Shut up," one of the men hissed. "Do you want a beating, brat?"

"No," Dick said. "But maybe I deserve one. I mean, you did just shoot a kid like he deserved it. How should I know what I deserve?"

"Shut up, or you might just end up deserving one," the other guy snapped.

"Maybe I won't shut up until you get the kid to a hospital. Or at least try to help him," Dick begged, giving up on all pretenses.

"Quiet, or you just might join him," the first one growled.

"I'd be happy to," Dick said. That, it turned out, was the wrong move on his part. He realized it too late. Or at least too late to change anything. One moment his hands were still zip tied and the next the zip tie was slashed and Dick was grabbed by the scruff of his neck before being dragged over next to the poor kid.

It was obvious he was dead. If the slowly growing pool of blood wasn't enough of a clue, the glassy stare from the sharp blue eyes was. Dick felt himself get shoved to the floor, into the pile of blood.

"Wait a moment to have you fun," a third guy said. The leader, if Dick wasn't mistaken. "Just until Wayne's finished transferring the funds. Then you can go crazy."

That wasn't a good sign. Judging by the kid, them having their fun would end in Dick dead. He didn't really like that idea. Just as a plan started to formulate and he began to wiggle out of the zip ties still on his ankles. It wasn't fast enough though.

"Funds are transferred," the leader said. "Go crazy."

A sharp pain on his head as someone's foot connected with it, the brief realization that his head was bleeding, and then the world faded into black.

At that same moment the life began to drain from Dick Grayson, something woke up. Something old and kind, but cruel at times. It gathered up Dick Grayson's life force in one hand gently, and in the other, it gathered the life that was just beginning to leave young Jason Todd. Then it appeared in fury in our world, not just the darkness of the earth and shadows it's world boasted.

It slowly killed each man in the warehouse one by one, taking their bodies and souls and casting them into the deepest, darkest parts of it's world. It would punish them later.

It approached both bodies still left, laying next to each other in a pool of blood. And at the sight, it grieved, for it was too late for one of them. Dick Grayson's body was beaten beyond recognition. It was shot and ruined beyond anything it could fix, even with all it's power. But Jason Todd, that boy's body wasn't beyond repair.

So it took the life force, the souls or each boy, and it slammed it's hands together, creating a new soul entirely. It was the best it could do. And it was pleased with what it had done. It fixed Jason Todd's body and placed the new-and-yet-old-soul inside gingerly before breathing life once again into the body.

With that, it disappeared back into it's world to punish and hunt down the monster's who had killed the boys, who had forced it to kill them again, to create someone new out of them.

A moment after it left, the body's eyes opened. Slowly, the body stood up, wobbling. The body walked away from the warehouse, at the moment still unaware of anything except that he needed to get away and hide. And that is where the story began…

The next morning, he woke up, alone, scared, and unsure of anything. He didn't even know his own name, much less where he was or what was going on. All he knew was he was in an alley, his clothes were covered in blood, and he didn't know anything about himself. Except for one thing. He needed to go to a phone booth somewhere. A special one.

First, though, he stood up and stretched. He may not have known anything, but he knew what the rumbling of his stomach meant. He was hungry and he needed food. The only problem was he didn't know where to get that.

He walked out of the alley carefully, looking first left then right, watching for people. No one was on the street. He emerged warily, still looking behind him every few moments. In fact, he didn't look in front of him until he hit something or someone.

He stopped and stared at the girl in shock. Her hair was bright red and she wore a uniform he somehow knew belonged to Gotham Academy. But he didn't even know what Gotham Academy was, so how did he know that.

"Are you okay?" the girl asked. "You're breathing really fast."

He shook his head slightly and looked up into her eyes. She gasped.

"Your face is covered in blood, kid. Are you okay?"

He paused, considered, then shrugged. Why was he covered in blood again? Where did it come from? Suddenly he was hit with an unexplainable pain everywhere, so intense it felt like someone was crushing him over and over underneath a car.

Vaguely, he was aware that he'd fallen over. Even more vaguely, he was aware that the girl was now holding him in her arms. He distantly heard her yelling something to someone, but other than that all he could do was feel pain and hear loud pops right in his ears.

The pain didn't stop slowly, but suddenly, and when he opened his eyes again he was in the back of a car. His head was on the girl's lap. A man with a mustache was driving the car. The car was making a loud wailing noise that he categorized as a siren.

"Are you okay, son," the man asked when he sat up.

All he was able to do was shake his head. He didn't even know why he wasn't okay. He just knew he wasn't.

"We're taking you to the hospital," the man said. "You had a seizure."

Idly, he wondered what a seizure was and how they knew he'd had one.

He zoned out the rest of the ride, only snapping out of it once the man lifted him up to carry him into the small building. A hospital, they'd said they were taking him to. This must be a hospital.

"Gordon," a woman greeted. Her voice sounded like she was serious, but when he looked at her, he froze. He knew her, didn't he? Or was he wrong? He thought he knew her though. But not from here. Somewhere darker with high pitched screeching. "What's going on?"

"This boy-"

"Dr. Thompkins," he said quietly. All three of them looked at him. He squirmed until he was set down. "That's your name?"

"Yes, sweetie," she said quietly. She turned to the man called Gordon sharply. "Who's blood is that?"

"I don't know," Gordon said. "He doesn't have any injuries that should have caused blood, much less that much. He bumped into Barbara and started to have a seizure."

He moved closer to the red-haired girl and held onto her shirt tightly, closing his eyes and retreating even deeper into his hood. The girl knelt down and pried his had off her shirt before taking it in her own hand gently.

"It'll be okay," she whispered. "I promise. I'm Barabara. What's your name?"

He was prevented from answering when Dr. Thompkins knelt down and asked: "May I take your hood down to have a look at your face?"

He nodded slowly. The Dr's hands pulled his hood down slowly. She gasped when she saw him and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Oh, Jason?" she asked softly.

He gripped Barbara's hand tightly and shook his head. That wasn't right. It didn't sound right. Besides…

"Who's Jason?" he asked.

Dr. Thompkins stood up quickly and turned to Gordon.

"Tell me exactly what happened," she demanded. "And follow me. We need to check you and figure out who's blood is covering the sweater."

Barbara held tightly to his hand and walked beside him slowly, following Gordon and Dr. Thompkins.

"It's okay if you don't remember," she said. "I promise."

He shook his head. He didn't say anything else though, and Barbara stopped talking, just held his hand tightly. They entered a small, windowless room behind Gordon and Dr. Thompkins. Barbara pulled him over to the bed and sat down on it before patting next to her. He sat down, still holding her hand.

He wasn't really aware of anything other than her hand squeezing his. He wasn't there during any of the tests Dr. Thompkins did or the conversation all three of them had about him. He wasn't even really aware of anything when Gordon and Dr. Thompkins left, leaving him with Barbara.

He didn't become aware until Barbara moved and let go of his hand. He reached out quickly and grabbed her wrist desperately.

"Please don't leave me," he begged quietly. "Please, Barbara. Don't leave me alone."

Barbara's eyes widened slightly and she shifted, leaning his head against her shoulder. He melted into the contact.

"I won't leave," she said quietly. "I promise."

He nodded against her shoulder, closing his eyes tightly.

"I'm so scared, Barbara. Why am I so scared? Why is everything so scary?" he asked. "Will you protect me?"

"Yeah," Barbara whispered. "I'll protect you. I'll keep anything from scaring you too if you want."

"Thank you," he said softly. "Just don't leave me alone. I don't want to be alone."

She turned around and pulled him into a hug. It was tight and warm and safe. He loved it. It made everything less scary. He felt better now, and everything had stopped hurting.

"I won't," Barbara said, stroking his hair. "I won't."

He felt something reach for him, something dark. He welcomed it and fell asleep.

Next thing he knew was waking up, slower than last time. He became aware much earlier than he was able to move. The first thing he heard was Dr. Thompkins.

"Jason Todd, that's who he is," she said. "He lives on the streets. His dad is in jail and his mom overdosed two years ago. He comes in occasionally for stitches."

"So why don't you write that down?" Gordon asked.

"Because, he can't be Jason Todd," she said, sounding frustrated. "Jason Todd has scars. This boy doesn't. And his scars aren't small, Jim. This boy's blood work matches though."

Gordon sighed. "Did you consider that this could have something to do with… ahm, magic?"

Dr. Thompkins sighed. "Yes, I did. It would explain the memory loss and the lack of scars. But, something about that feels off."

"Did you get whose blood is on the jacket?" Barbara asked, voice coming from beside him.

"Yes," Dr. Thompkins said. "That's what I came in to tell you, Jim. His blood is on there. A lot of blood. He should be dead. But that's not all."

There was a small noise and an even smaller groan from Gordon.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"One hundred percent," Dr. Thompkins said sadly.

"What is it, dad?" Barbara asked. "Tell me."

"Sweetie, you don't want to hear this," Gordon said. "Trust me. Let me just, I'll tell you once I'm sure."

Barbara huffed. "Fine. I'm not going to school today, dad, though. Or tomorrow. I'm staying here with him."

"Just stay here then?" Gordon commanded. "I have some work I need to do."

He heard footsteps and then a door open. The door closed a moment later. He opened his eyes.

"Barbara?" he asked quietly, sitting up and off her leg.

"I'm here," she said. "Do you want anything?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Okay, then we'll stay here, okay?"

"Okay," he echoed.

He spent the rest of the day in the room. Occasionally, Dr. Thompkins would stop by, but mostly it was just him and Barbara. He didn't talk much. She didn't either, really. She did talk a little, about her friend named Dick. Something about the name struck him as familiar in the same way Jason was familiar. He almost wondered if it was his name, but it wasn't quite right either.

Night eventually arrived. He fell asleep again. When he woke up in the morning, Gordon was there again. Barbara wasn't in the room. Immediately, he began to panic.

"Calm down," Gordon said quickly. "Barbara just had to go get some food and change. She'll be back soon. In the meantime, though, I need to talk to you."

He nodded warily.

"Do you know who Dick Grayson is?"

He nodded. "Barbara's friend."

Gordon smiled slightly. "Your sweater was covered in blood. Yours and his. Enough from both that you both should be dead. How did that happen?"

He shook his head and shrugged.

"You don't know?"

He nodded.

"Where's the last place you remember being?"

"Near the water," he said quietly, almost impossibly quiet.

"Where near the water? Please, it's important. Dick is missing. He has been for a few days now. It's being kept quiet. Only his father, Batman, and some other cops I trust know."

He thought back hard.

"Blue sign. It had the number three on it," he said. "I didn't like it there. It hurt."

"What hurt?" Gordon asked sharply.

"The guns. The kicking."

He wasn't sure why he said that, but suddenly he was sure it was very true. He'd been shot and kicked. But he was okay now. So maybe he hadn't?

"Guns? Kicking?"

He shook his head and clamped his lips shut. Gordon seemed to get the cue and stood up.

"Barbara will be back in another minute. Will you be okay alone for that long?"

He nodded his head. He was starting to taste copper from where he was biting his lip.

Gordon left.

The day passed almost the same as yesterday. Barbara stayed with him most of the time. They watched a cartoon that made him shake in silent laughter. Dr. Thompkins came to check on him sometimes.

He went to sleep that night happy.

He also woke up that night unhappy.

There was a man above him. A man in black with a cape. The man was just looking at him. He didn't like it, and yet somehow, the man felt familiar. Safe.

He blinked owlishly and sat up.

"What do you know about Dick Grayson?" the man asked with a deep voice.

He pointed at Barbara. "Her friend."

The man glared at him pointedly. This just made his cross his arms and jut his chin out stubbornly.

"What do you know about Dick Grayson's death," the man growled again, sounding dangerous.

He froze. Death? But that couldn't be right. Dick Grayson couldn't… he wasn't dead. Was he?

He shook his head frantically.

The man leaned forward, extending an arm towards him. The shadows loomed.

"Your clothes were covered in his blood," the man snarled. "What do you know?"

He shook his head again. "Nothing. It hurt. Kicking. Guns. Bad men."

The man stopped moving forward and instead sat back against the chair.

"Kicking?" he asked.

"They kicked me in the head," he said quietly, not quite in control of his mouth. "They did that first. They shot me too. They also shot me before they kicked me, but not me."

The man's eyes narrowed behind his mask.

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't know. They kicked me and shot me and shot me too and I died twice. I don't know," he said helplessly, shaking his head. "It hurt and they wouldn't stop."

He closed his eyes and scrubbed at them with his fists. When he opened his eyes again, the man was gone.

He fell back into an uneasy sleep. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either.

When he woke up again, Barbara was there. Her eyes were red and she was glued to the TV. A woman on it was talking about the death of Dick Grayson. He had the horrible feeling that what had happened last night wasn't a bad dream.

"Dick's," Barbara began. "He's gone. He can't just be _gone_!"

Her voice broke on the last word and she flung herself at him. He froze before wrapping his arms around her in an awkward hug.

Barbara left after lunch with Gordon. He was alone until the man he'd seen last night, the one with the mask and cape, appeared again. This time he had a green man with him.

In a moment he fell onto his bed in a deep sleep. He didn't wake up until he was alone again.

Barbara came back later with her dad, who checked him out of the hospital and gave him new clothes to wear.

"You're coming home with us," he said quietly when Barbara wasn't next to them. "You need a home and Barbara need you. I think you need her too."

He nodded slowly.

"Her friend died," Gordon continued. "He was a good kid. Nice. Didn't deserve it, for sure. They can't figure out what happened. Not even Batman. I heard him and a friend paid you a visit earlier. They didn't find anything in your memories. They didn't find any memories, is what he said."

"The thing in the shadows," he said quietly. "That did it. It took the men who hurt Barbara's friend. The man in the cape should look there."

Gordon blinked. "I'll be sure to tell him that. Now you go ahead and get in. We're heading home."

He got in the car and took Barbara's offered hand.

He lived there as a foster child until he chose a name for himself. He lived there as an adopted child once he chose a name for himself.

Sometimes he watched superheroes on TV. Kid Flash and Superboy. Miss Martian and Artemis. Zatanna and Rocket. He missed them even though he never knew them, or at least he thought he never knew them. He wasn't sure.

He saw Bruce Wayne adopt a new child named Tim Drake. Barbara didn't like him at first because he wasn't Dick. That meant that he didn't like him at first. Barbara was always right, so she was right to not like him at first.

Even once she said Tim was okay, she never spent a lot of time with him. He spent time with Tim Drake, who was funny and smart and never lied to him except for when he did.

Tim understood why he didn't like to talk. Why he was quiet. Why he knew Tim was Robin even though he shouldn't have. Why he knew Barbara was Batgirl and helped her make stuff. Tim understood why when Barbara joined the Team, he was invited to join as a member, even if all he did was take care of tech and build equipment for them. And when he discovered it, Tim understood what two souls combined together meant, even if neither of them knew whose two souls they were.

And he ended up okay. Alive. Loved. That was all he needed.


End file.
